


Maelstrom

by orphan_account



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Music RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 01:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stig panics, Elina comforts.  Fluff for fluff's sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maelstrom

Stig doesn't know quite what he's doing when he taps lightly on Elina's door. But then, this is Eurovision. Logic and international song competitions do not exactly go hand in hand. He's been walking for what feels like hours in the drizzle. Vienna is beautiful but he feels he's wandering in a half-unreal version of it, all skewed and warped. Like he's in a dream. Maybe this was a dream too, or a nightmare. He wasn't entirely sure. It's all bad and he can't focus, can't breathe, can't calm down. Anxiety grips him tight and he can't stop it pulling him under the swell. He's a failure, he's going to fail and everyone will hate him. Elina will hate him for letting her down. 'I'll break your heart when I fail' he thinks. And he can't bear it, it's too much. A maelstrom of thoughts churning like a sea.

A chink of light streams into the corridor as the door is pulled cautiously open. A slightly dishevelled Elina blearily squints out from behind the security chain, not quite awake enough to function. As she realises who it is, she breathes a sigh of relief and smiles, half asleep. 

"You scared -" Elina interrupts herself halfway. "Stig, what are you doing it's 2 in the..." slowly trailing off as she wakes up enough to start gauging his facial expression and realise something is very wrong. His blue eyes are wide and wild-looking, and staring back into them immediately puts Elina on edge. This is bad, she's never seen Stig like this and that's enough to set all sorts of alarm bells ringing in the back of her mind. Doubts are one thing, nerves another. This however is real, genuine terror. And his fear frightens her too. That's not Stig, not the one she knows. He's always been...well, Stig. Sanguine, practically impossible to phase. Quiet, and calm but never phased by whatever setback (many, some of which she had come to understand had hurt more than others) came his way. 

The light suddenly vanishes, and for a split second Stig thinks Elina is about to go back to bed and leave him. Panic rises up even more and he has to fight the urge to black out.

The chain rattles behind the door, and he can hear her fumbling as she tries to unhook it with half-asleep fingers. Finally, after what felt far longer than it was, it's open and light floods the hallway. He sways, lightheaded and Elina has to slide a warm hand around his wrist and lead him inside like a child. She can feel his pulse, rapid against her finger tips. 

Her hotel room is tidier than he thought it would be. 

Without resistance, he lets himself be manouevered to sit on the end of the bed, her hands reassuringly firm and warm against him. A warm tea - hers, perhaps (if she's been up reading again) is pressed into his hand and a blanket is draped around him. His muscles are taut and he feels as if he's been wound too tight and might fracture at any moment.

Elina looks at him with a mixture of concern and bewilderment, but doesn't talk. It's a panic attack, she knows that. She's anxious not to upset him further, whatever's going on. Stig doesn't do - Stig doesn't behave like this. She sits next to him, rubs his back carefully and threads her hand through his, feeling him start to breathe slower and deeper, his shoulders sinking as the tension starts to ebb away. They're friends first and foremost, and she's honoured he trusts her enough to let her see him like this.

When he finally speaks, his voice sounds cracked and hollow, almost a whisper. 

"I can't...I can't do this. All of it. It's too-" The words hang heavy with meaning in the relative silence. Elina leans in closer, dark hair spilling over her shoulder.  
"Too?" prompting him.  
"Much" he gulps, staring blankly into the distance.

Elina pauses in thought, wondering how to proceed. Scooting closer to him, she's caught off-guard when he turns and stares straight in her eyes. For all the world, he looks like a lost little boy and her heart breaks for him.  
"If we-" a gulp. "Fail" and another. Elina could see him fight to get the words out.  
"We won't." she replies. "We haven't."  
"How can you say that? How can you be sure?"  
"I can't be, not entirely" Stig watches her intently, carefully processing her thoughts. Elina halts, then continues. "I can't be sure until it's all over, but I have faith in us, you, the song. Your song got us here, Stig. Your hard work, our hard work."  
"But I'm not good enough!" agitated, Stig's voice rose slightly.  
"Yes, you are." Elina replied, firmly. "Don't say things like that."

They both glanced away, Elina focussing on the pattern on the bedspread, Stig on the floor. An uneasy silence fell between them, only breaking when Stig got up to put down the now-cool cup.

"I'm sorry" he croaked.  
"It's ok, Stig. I'm scared too." Elina confided. "I'm scared of missing my cue, falling over in front of millions of people, being flat. Of letting you down, the country down."  
"You've never let me down though, not ever."  
"It might happen one day."  
"Not today." Elina could see a faint smile cross Stig's face and smiled back.  
"Or tomorrow."  
"Or ever." 

He settles back down on the bed next to her, legs touching, and instinctively Elina reaches a hand around his back and hugs him tightly. They stay pressed close, each drawing the support they need from each other, tears prickling at their eyes. They're safe in their own bubble and reality isn't going to creep in just yet. 

As daybreak starts to turn the gap in the curtains shades of red Elina crawls under the covers and gestures Stig to follow, and after pulling off his jeans and shoes he curls up next to her, both of them a jumble of limbs and angles. He throws an arm around her waist and as he drifts off, he feels a soft kiss on his forehead reassuring him she's still there. That seems for now a steady rock for his mind to cling to. 

For now, that's enough.


End file.
